


we're waiting here for something to save us

by buddiebuddie



Series: white house AU [12]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, President Evan Buckley, Protective Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Special Agent Eddie Diaz, White House AU, Whump, happy ending though i promise!!!!, i cant hurt these babies more than ryan murphy already has, intruder, no one is physically harmed though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddiebuddie/pseuds/buddiebuddie
Summary: “You’re okay. I got you.”It doesn’t do much to stop the guilt. Not when Eddie’s fraught with it.A security breach at the White House is bad. A security breach in the President's Residence is even worse.or, Buck and Eddie competing for the gold at the Guilt Olympics™
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: white house AU [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677313
Comments: 180
Kudos: 257





	1. won't leave you alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Princessfbi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/gifts).



> this started out as a oneshot and quickly transformed into a multi-chaper whump/angst/fluff/hurt comfort extravaganza and i am not mad about it. 
> 
> and it is all thanks to [Princessfbi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi) who supplied the prompt, the writing help, and the encouragement i needed to make this a reality!
> 
> work title and chapter titles all from save us by lennon stella, aka the queen of buddie songs 😌
> 
> this is set in the white house au, right at the beginning of buck's second term in office.

It’s just past eleven when Buck feels the mattress dip. His mind still clouded with sleep, he sighs contentedly, turning over and reaching his hand out. It goes unclaimed for a beat too long, his stomach twisting up when Eddie’s warm fingers don’t snake between his own. 

He should’ve reached back. Eddie always reaches back. “Eds,” he mumbles, propping himself up on an elbow and blinking twice to clear the sleep from his eyes. 

Even in the sea of darkness shrouding the room, Buck knows with absolute certainty that the person at the edge of the mattress isn’t Eddie. 

Nevermind the fact that Eddie would’ve taken Buck’s hand, running his thumb across Buck’s knuckles before letting it go long enough to reach down and untie his shoes. Or that he would’ve been quick to come around the side of the bed, to drop a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and card his fingers through his hair. Or that Eddie would’ve murmured a hushed greeting as he crossed the room to close the window Buck always insisted on opening, his words clinging to the air already thick with the scent of oncoming rain. 

Eddie would have crossed the room to the dresser to grab a pair of socks, before stopping in his tracks as Buck would’ve murmured, “On the chair,” his voice thick with sleep. And sure enough, Eddie would have found a pair of socks on the cream colored armchair, sitting beside the t-shirt Buck leaves out for him each night. Eddie would have smiled to himself, feeling warm inside as he remembered the night that he crawled into bed, only for Buck to hiss in protest, grumbling that Eddie’s feet were “colder than a certain Republican senator’s heart.” 

And Buck would have grinned as he thought about how ever since that night, Eddie always makes a point to pull on a pair of socks first. His grin would have been followed by a squeeze of his chest as he thinks about how Eddie’s always thinking of him, always putting him first.

And if were, in fact, Eddie sitting on the foot of the bed, he would’ve had a hand on Buck’s calf, causing Buck’s chest to swell with the warmth that comes from the soft brush of Eddie’s thumb through the blankets.

All that aside, there’s no way it’s Eddie. Even in the dark, Buck can tell the shoulders are too narrow, the hair too long. His hands are flat on his lap, his head bowed, a certain timidity to him that Eddie would know nothing about. 

The realization has Buck’s heart stopping for a beat before resuming at double speed, pounding against his ribcage with a fury unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. He clears his throat, sitting up the rest of the way. 

His fingers are sure and steady as he presses the tiny black button on the side of the nightstand– triggering the silent alarm– on his way to switching on the bedside lamp. 

His moves are confident, his fingers unflinching despite the waves of anxiety crashing over him, fierce and ceaseless as fear fills his lungs with each strangled breath. His calm hands under pressure come from his time with the SEALS— while he could never shut his emotions off in the way his counterparts could, he had the steadiest hands of anyone in his unit. He was hyper aware of the fact that one flinch of his finger could result in the loss of innocent life, each of his movements steady and calculated. 

“Mr. President.” 

Buck’s reply catches around the lump in his throat, his stomach turning as the room floods with light and he sees the stranger at the foot of his bed. He doesn’t recognize the guy, but he’s dressed in the same dark blue jumpsuit as the cleaning crew. If the pit in his stomach and the frenzied beat of his heart weren’t enough, the lack of a White House badge around his neck is the confirmation Buck needs that this guy doesn’t belong. 

The man’s voice is deep, gravelly. “I’m so glad to have gotten you alone.” 

Eddie’s in his office, finishing up the last of the paperwork for tomorrow’s FBI briefing when the light above his office door flashes. His eyes snap up, his blood running cold as the siren starts in earpiece. It’s a sound he’s only ever heard once before– at the end of his training– yet one he’d know anywhere: the silent alarm, triggered by one of the many panic buttons hidden in the residence.

His feet are moving before his mind has the chance to catch up, bolting from the room and down the hallway without a second’s hesitation. A recorded voice booms in his earpiece between the wails of the siren. **IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUIRED. ALL AVAILABLE AGENTS. IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUIRED.**

He takes the stairs to the residence two at a time, his heart heavy in his chest under the weight of the panic that’s threatening to crush him. He moves like a machine, laser-focused as he races down the marble hallways faster than he ever has before. 

He’s so focused on getting to Buck, he doesn’t realize Chimney and Bobby are behind him until the three of them reach the double doors leading to the residence. Eddie unholsters his weapon as Bobby pushes the door open, his access card swiped against the handle before Eddie has a chance to reach for his own. 

Eddie waves the two of them towards the east side of the sprawling apartment, a silent instruction to clear the other bedrooms as he himself beelines for the master. 

His stomach flips as he notices a muddy boot print on the otherwise pristine carpet. Someone's here. Someone who shouldn't be.

When he gets to Buck’s bedroom, the door is locked, the handle unmoving beneath his hurried grasp. He kicks it in with a single swift motion, wood splitting as it’s ripped from the frame and sent swinging back on its hinges. 

His eyes find Buck the second he steps into the room, searching him out before he has a chance to blink. 

He appears unharmed, despite the trepidation in his pinched brows and fear-stricken eyes, the panic coming off him in waves so palpable Eddie can practically taste it. His breath hitches, bile rising in the back of his throat as he takes in the sight of the man at the end of the bed. He’s dressed like one of the cleaning staff, but Eddie’s never seen him before. 

Eddie knows every face to currently grace a White House badge. And there’s no doubt in Eddie’s mind that this man is _not_ cleared to be here, let alone in the residence. And so late at night? In Buck’s bedroom? No way. 

He ignores Eddie’s presence, keeping his eyes trained on Buck, his gaze unmoving even as Eddie steps closer and growls, “Get up.” When he makes no move, Eddie flicks the safety off his gun. “I said _get up._ ” 

“Special Agent Eddie Diaz?” he asks, his eyes still locked on Buck. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say the guy sounds awestruck. 

“Will not hesitate to put you down if you don’t get off that bed and step away from the President,” Chimney says, stepping beside Eddie. 

The guy finally turns to face them, his eyes wild in the low light. He slowly raises his two hands, lifting from them his lap and revealing he’s unarmed. It’s all Eddie needs to holster his weapon and surge forward, yanking the guy by his arm and hauling him off the bed. He all but throws him into Chimney’s waiting arms, rushing towards Buck as Bobby secures the handcuffs around the guy’s wrists. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks, breath bated as he waits for Buck’s reply. He can tell that Buck is trying his damndest to keep it together, his jaw set tight as he nods, watching Bobby and Chimney lead the guy towards the kicked-in door. 

Eddie’s chest feels heavy under the weight of the guilt and regret and pain all swirling together, magnified as he catches another glimpse at the fear in Buck’s eyes. The ache in his chest quickly turns red-hot as he sees Buck’s hands start shaking. 

Buck tries to hide them beneath the blankets, but it’s too late– Eddie sees his fingers tremble, notices the way Buck flexes his knuckles in an attempt to calm them. Eddie's stomach turns over for what must be the hundredth time, knotting itself up as he tries to keep himself together– if not for himself, for Buck's sake. He knows he's going to have to go in a moment, will have to join Chim and Bobby downstairs to deal with all of this, but he refuses to even consider leaving Buck. He looks over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Chimney, mouthing “Get Maddie.” Chimney nods, stepping aside and bringing his radio to his lips. 

“Bobby,” Eddie says, his voice cold and unmoving. “He doesn’t go anywhere until I get a minute with him.” 

Bobby nods. “Copy that.” 

And with that, Buck and Eddie are alone in the room. Eddie doesn’t waste a second, surging forward. “It’s okay,” he says, taking Buck’s hands in his. His fingers are cold as they shake, the adrenaline crash coming over him in waves just as intense as those made of anxiety just a few minutes before. “It’s okay.” 

He brings Buck’s hands to his lips, dropping gentle kisses to his knuckles in an attempt to calm the trembling. As he brings his hands to Buck’s face, he breathes for the first time since the siren started. His fingers knit in Buck’s disheveled hair, his thumbs brushing across his cheekbones as their eyes lock on one another. 

Seeing Buck unharmed was one thing, but the true comfort comes from validating his safety for himself– being able to hold him, feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingers, breath in his scent. Buck tries to take a deep breath, but it turns into a choked-off sob. His eyes screw shut as he leans forward, dropping his head to Eddie’s shoulder as two strong hands encircle him.

“I’m here,” Eddie murmurs, focusing on rubbing circles into Buck’s back so that the guilt doesn’t consume him. “You’re okay. I got you.” 

It doesn’t do much to stop the guilt. Not when Eddie’s fraught with it. 

It gnaws at him, clinging to his bones and coursing through his body with each beat of his heart. He’d always been worried about something like this happening– someone managing to slip through the cracks and breach security– especially at a moment when he wasn’t around. Buck loves to laugh at him for it, insisting _that’ll never happen_ and ribbing him about needing to relax. 

And now it’s happened. It’s happened and Buck is one blow of the wind from falling apart. Not that Eddie can blame him– he’s right there himself, teetering on the edge.

He presses a kiss into the disheveled curls atop Buck’s head, murmuring “It’s okay,” and “You’re okay,” over and over again, until Buck’s heart stops racing, his pulse no longer thrumming uncontrollably beneath Eddie’s gentle hold on his wrist. 

And even then, once the adrenaline’s worked its way out of his system, his body calming down beneath Eddie’s touch, Eddie keeps talking. Keeps whispering to him, reminding him “You’re safe,” and “I’m here,” and “You’re okay,” his words punctuated with soft brushes of his lips against Buck’s skin and gentle squeezes to his knee, his thigh, his hand. 

Maddie bursts into the room a few minutes later, still in her pajamas. “Buck,” the word comes out as more of an exhale than anything, her relief coloring her face as he crosses the room to him. Eddie stands up, Maddie taking his place without hesitation and wrapping her brother in a hug. “You okay?” 

He nods, the words caught in his throat as he swallows down a shaky sob. “You’re here?” he asks, almost in disbelief. “It’s late, Mads. You–”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off gently, smiling and brushing his hair down with her fingers. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying until Eddie comes back,” she says. “And longer, if you want me to.” 

“You’re going?” Buck asks, turning to face Eddie. His voice breaks on the last syllable, further driving the knife in Eddie’s heart. 

“I’ll be back,” Eddie says. “I promise. I just– I have to go be the boss right now. As much as I don’t want to.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to the top of Buck’s head. “I’m coming right back, okay? As soon as I can. I promise.” 

Despite Buck’s nod and Maddie’s repeated insistence that she’s not going anywhere, leaving Buck nearly splits Eddie in half. 

He storms downstairs, his fury reignited as he makes his way towards the basement holding cell. He breezes right past Chimney and straight to the small, barred-off corner of the room. He smacks the metal bars, startling the man. “Up. Now.” 

He obeys, rising to his feet from where he had been sitting on the small cot pushed up against the cinderblock wall. “Just to be clear,” Eddie all but growls. “You’re _very_ lucky you didn’t touch him.”

“Why’s that?” the guy asks. 

Chimney’s voice cuts in from a few feet behind Eddie. “Because if you had, you’d be having this conversation with a tube down your throat.” He steps forward, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “And that's the best-case scenario.” 

Eddie’s stomach turns as he makes eye contact with the guy, too disgusted to say much else. His heart pounds in his chest as the rage threatens to consume him, his fingers clenching around the metal bars until his knuckles go white. 

“Eddie.” It’s Bobby, in his earpiece. “Metro PD is here to take him. You good?” 

Eddie has nothing left to say to him. He thought coming down here would make him feel better, but instead he’s just left with a sick feeling in his gut. With one last look, Eddie tears his eyes away, bringing his radio up to his ear and saying, “Yeah. Get him out of here.” 

Between supervising the transfer to Metro PD, running a quick debrief, calling in additional agents, and ordering a temporary bolt for Buck’s door to be brought in right away, it’s another couple of hours before Eddie can get back upstairs. 

The two agents outside the double doors to the residence step aside to let him through, only to reveal another two on the other side, waiting inside the foyer. Eddie hopes Buck has been able to take enough comfort in the increased security presence to get some sleep, but as he turns the corner and hears Buck’s voice, he knows it’s not the case. 

He heads the rest of the way down the hallway, knocking on the splintered door frame. The door’s still open from where Eddie busted it open earlier, the doorjamb damaged beyond any hope. But he knocks anyway in an effort to keep from startling Buck– especially with what he went through earlier, he wants to make his presence known. 

Buck turns his head towards the door, relaxing immediately upon seeing Eddie leaning up against the broken frame. “Hey,” he says. “You’re back.” 

“I’m back,” Eddie confirms, stepping into the room. He takes in Buck’s bloodshot eyes, his sunken in cheeks. He’s sitting up in bed, his laptop open atop his criss-crossed legs. It’s clear that he hasn’t slept a wink in Eddie’s absence. And with the clock inching towards two a.m., he has to be exhausted. “Not tired?” 

Maddie glances up at Eddie from where she’s sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, the two of them sharing a knowing look. Buck shrugs. Eddie had promised that he’d be back, and Eddie always keeps his promises. But still, the few times he had tried to close his eyes, it had been nothing but a supercut of the silhouette of a man with too-narrow shoulders and too-long hair, hushed whispers of “Mr. President,” and “I’m so glad to have gotten you alone.”

Looking back at Maddie, Eddie’s chest feels tight all of a sudden when he notices the folded up t-shirt on the ground beside her, a pair of rolled up socks sitting atop it. 

She stands up, walking over and ruffling Buck’s already disheveled hair as Eddie kicks off his shoes and drapes his jacket over the back of the armchair. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me,” she says, extending her pinky. “Love you.”

“You too,” Buck says, linking his pinky with hers. “Thanks, Mads.”

Maddie pats Eddie on the shoulder before walking out. He pulls on the shirt and socks that Buck left out for him. His chest still feels heavy as he does, but as he inhales, the scent of Buck’s detergent sends some of the tension ebbing away. 

There’s a soft rap on the doorframe, and Eddie doesn’t miss the way Buck startles. “Hey, Chim,” Eddie says, crossing the room. Chimney hands him some sort of metal bar, earning him a weird look from Buck.

“That looks like some sort of medieval torture device,” Buck says.   
Eddie shakes his head fondly, the much-needed normalcy of Buck’s reaction sending the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “It’s better,” Eddie says, brandishing the metal pole. “Watch this.” 

He pushes the door closed, setting the hooked end underneath the doorknob and tightening the bar. He looks over at Buck. “Now look what happens if Chim tries to get in.” 

On cue, Chimney tries twisting the doorknob from the hallway. It rattles, but refuses to turn. A high pitched alarm sounds from within the bar, loud enough that Buck has to cover his ears. Eddie smiles, satisfied with the device as he shuts it off. “Thank you,” Buck says, wrapping his arms around Eddie from behind and pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s simple, but Eddie catches the meaning behind it– the unspoken sentiment behind the two seemingly small words. “I mean it.” 

Eddie turns in Buck’s arms enough that he can kiss him properly before turning back to the door. “Thanks, Chim!” he calls. 

“You got it, boss,” comes his reply from the other side of the door. “See you guys tomorrow. And Buck?”

“Yeah?” Buck calls back. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Buck smiles sadly, refuses to meet Eddie’s eyes as he says, “Me, too. Night, Chim.”

As the two of them climb into bed, Eddie wraps his arms around Buck and pulls him close to his chest. “Evan,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You did good today.”

Buck shrugs. “I–” 

Eddie can read the unease and despondency on his face, knows it’s clinging to the words Buck can’t manage to get out. He leans over and presses a kiss to Buck’s cheek. “I know,” he says. “I know.” 

Buck curls into Eddie, tucking his legs up beneath him and stifling a yawn. 

“Thought I told you to get some sleep,” Eddie murmurs.

Buck shrugs, his voice small as he replies, “I didn’t know how. Not without you here.” 

Eddie’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again, for the umpteenth time tonight. He swallows around the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. 

“I’m here now,” he says after a beat, once he’s sure his voice won’t waver, won’t reveal the depth of the ache in his chest. Buck’s eyelids are growing heavy already, sleep coming a little easier with the warmth of Eddie’s skin against his and the steady beat of his heart. “I’m here,” Eddie repeats.

It’s the last thing Buck hears before sleep overtakes him. 


	2. it's on your mind, i know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pack your bags babies, we're going on a guilt trip

Eddie tears his eyes away from the window only to watch the steady rise and fall of Buck’s chest as he sleeps beside him. The clock on the nightstand says it’s nearly four, which means it’s been two hours since Eddie got back. Two hours since Buck fell asleep, two hours that Eddie’s been staring at the bedroom window, his eyes trained on the glass. 

What he hadn’t told Buck when got back upstairs was that they’d managed to piece together the events that led to the man at the foot of the bed earlier. He’d come in on a tour, changed into a custodial uniform he’d stolen from a local dry cleaner, and followed another employee into the East Wing. He’d climbed out a window and shimmied down a drain pipe, at which point he was able to break into the residence by forcing one of the windows open and slipping inside.

Upon Eddie’s demand to know how none of the guards on the roof saw any of this happen, they realized the guy happened to move entirely within a blind spot. It hadn’t done much to quell the fury in Eddie’s chest, and even less to ease the guilt threatening to consume him.  He had called the head of the building security, waking him just after midnight without so much as a second’s hesitation. When he explained what happened and asked how the  _ hell _ someone was able to breach the residence through a window, he was met with silence. Then, the guy admitted that there were some faulty locks that they’d “been meaning to get looked at,” at which point Eddie’s fingers twitched. 

It was a good thing Eddie couldn’t reach through the phone and strangle the guy, or else he’s fairly certain that he’d be taking the intruder’s place in the holding cell downstairs. His voice was cold and unmoving as he spoke. “I’ll expect your resignation first thing tomorrow.” 

Bobby poked his head into Eddie’s office at the sound of the receiver slamming down as he ended the call. He was just in time to see Eddie pick the phone up off of his desk, the cords ripping from the wall as he hurled it across the room. It made a sickening noise as it hit the wall, broken pieces scattered across the carpet as Eddie’s breath came in ragged pants. 

“Eddie,” Bobby said calmly. “It’s okay. He’s okay.” 

Eddie had shaken his head, clenching his teeth so hard he was sure he’d have a headache for days. His fingers were gripping the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, his heart slamming up against his ribcage as he tried to keep it together. “It’s not okay,” he said. “None of this is okay.” 

Someone got into Buck’s home–  _ their _ home. And Eddie couldn’t stop it.  
  
Eddie moved into the residence just under a year ago. He’d spent some 300 nights there, 150 of which Christopher was in the bedroom down the hall from them. 300 nights spent beside Buck in the bed that was just desecrated, and 300 days in which he never once realized that one of the windows wasn’t secure. He’s never hated himself more. 

He bowed his head, screwing his eyes shut as he sucked in a long, shaky breath. “How did this happen?” he whispered, more to himself than anything. 

“Don’t do this,” Bobby said. He stepped over the broken remains of Eddie’s desk phone, crossing the room to where Eddie still had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of his desk. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Eddie’s voice was suddenly small as he looked up at Bobby, a flash of vulnerability as he asked, “How can I not?” 

So Eddie doesn’t sleep. Not while there’s still an unsecured window at the other end of the residence and certainly not after he learned just how easy it is for danger to slip through the cracks. Never mind the fact that he checked the bedroom window himself, had Bosko and Kinard check every other window twice, and that he’d assigned an agent to stand at the one in kitchen with the faulty lock, and another two to the hallway just outside the bedroom door. 

He stares at the window. He stares at the window and imagines someone coming through it while he sleeps. He thinks about what would happen if he somehow slept through it– if they managed to catch him off guard. Or worse, if they managed to get to Buck. His stomach flips, his teeth clenching.

He stares at the window and thinks about how much he fucked up, how deeply and profoundly he failed Buck. He can’t bring himself to think about what could’ve happened if Chris had been here instead of at Shannon’s– he thinks his chest might split open if he does. 

He’s still staring at the window when the sun comes up, when Buck starts stirring beside him. He flexes his ankles, stretching out his legs before turning onto his side, pressing a kiss to Buck’s forehead as their limbs tangle together beneath the sheets. Buck hums sleepily, seeking out Eddie’s touch as he curls into the embrace. 

Buck sighs as Eddie runs his fingers up his side absentmindedly, his touch reassuring and grounding and everything Buck needs all at once. And then he flinches, jerking his leg away suddenly as Eddie’s sock-clad foot brushes against the side of his ankle.

“You okay?” Eddie whispers, stilling. 

Buck nods. It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth, either.

The truth of it is, the guy last night touched his ankle. It had just been a brush of his fingers through the blankets– Buck isn’t even positive that it was intentional– but he still feels the heat of it on his skin, even now. It’s as if the press of those fingers has been seared into him, Buck’s skin branded with a memory of one of the scariest moments of his life. 

Eddie’s foot brushing up against it was too much, just now. The contact, no matter how fleeting, had sent a chill up his spine, leaving him feeling dirty, marred. 

Eddie can’t help but notice the way Buck stands a little closer to him as they get ready for the day, how he waits to get in the shower until Eddie’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror combing gel through his hair, the way he lingers in the kitchen while Eddie pours two cups of coffee. 

And, as they walk through the halls of the West Wing, how he slows his pace until Eddie’s practically on top of him. As they make their way to the Oval Office, Eddie realizes what’s going on. Buck’s head is on a swivel for the first time in his life– or, rather, at least the first time that Eddie’s ever seen. His face is pinched, his shoulders tight as they make their way through the building. And as it clicks, Eddie’s stomach drops. 

Buck doesn’t feel safe. 

His guilt magnifies at the realization, growing tenfold. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, stopping just outside the door to the office, his voice low as to not be overheard by anyone else in the hall. His hand rests on the small of Buck’s back, his touch instantly grounding, even through the fabric of Buck’s suit. “You’re safe here. I promise.” 

Hen’s waiting for them inside, taking over for Eddie for a few hours so he can go deal with the aftermath of last night’s events. He doesn’t miss the trepidation in Buck’s face as he leaves, his chest squeezing uncomfortably as he makes his way downstairs. 

He focuses on the task at hand– getting the security issues resolved– knowing full well that if he stops long enough to really think about the realization from a few minutes before, he’ll succumb to the growing pit in his gut. This is his fault, after all. 

He failed. He failed Buck so deeply that he doesn’t feel safe– not at home, not at work– and it’s inexcusable. He's overcome with self-hatred and virtually certain he'll never be able to forgive himself for this. 

Eddie’s not back by the time Buck has his first meeting of the day. Ordinarily, it would be no big deal. It’s just his weekly closed-door meeting with the directors of the FBI, CIA, and NSA. He just has to walk halfway down the main corridor to get there, and Hen will be with him the entire time. He trusts her with his life and always has– he’s never doubted her skills or her competency as an agent for even a second– but still, and through no fault of her own, she’s no Eddie. 

He can’t help but feel a little anxious as they make their way down the hallway, nervous energy coursing through him with each step he takes. But then they turn the corner and he sees Eddie and Bobby waiting outside the meeting room. Eddie smiles as they approach– it’s small, soft, but reassuring in the way Buck hasn’t yet realized he was craving. His stomach instantly settles, his breath coming a little bit easier with the knowledge that Eddie will be the one outside the door.   
Bobby’s back is to them as he talks with Athena. As they approach the double doors to the meeting room, Eddie steps forward to thank Hen as Buck catches a snippet of Bobby and Athena’s conversation. Athena’s brows are knit together as she mutters, “I still don’t understand how he got in.” 

Bobby’s reply is hushed. “Through a window.” 

Buck’s blood runs cold at that, his stomach turning over.  _ Through a window.  _

The window. The fucking window. Buck could throw up. Any time Eddie’s working late and he’s left to fall asleep alone, he opens the bedroom window.    
It started nearly thirty years ago. 

Buck wasn’t sure when exactly his nightmares started, but his earliest memories of them were when he was just shy of six years old. The first time it happened, he dreamt of Ma Fratelli from The Goonies threatening to cut his tongue out. To this day, he still blames the nanny for letting them watch that so close to bed. Buck still remembers how real it seemed– the glint of the knife in the moonlight, the warbled edge to her voice, the way he could practically feel her fingers digging into his cheek. He remembers shooting up in bed, crying out for his mom in a panic. 

He’ll never forget her silhouette in the doorway to his room, lit from behind by the hallway light. The way she sighed and crossed her arms as he explained through tears what he’d seen in his dreams. He remembers the exasperated edge to her voice as she said “Go back to sleep, Evan.” But more than anything, he remembers the click of the hallway light as she turned and went back to bed, the sinking feeling in his chest as he was left reaching out for her as the room went dark.

The next time it happened, he found himself at the foot of Maddie’s bed. “Maddie,” he said quietly, his little voice breaking. 

She sat up, reaching over and turning on the lamp on the nightstand. “Did you have a bad dream?” she asked, sensitive and intuitive beyond her nine years. When Buck nodded, she scooted to the side, pulling back her purple comforter and patting the mattress. 

His breath came a little easier the second he climbed into bed beside her, her presence instantly grounding. “I have bad dreams, too, sometimes,” she said, pulling the blanket up and tucking it beneath their chins as Buck stared up at the ceiling fan, his eyes fixed on the butterfly charm at the end of the light pull. He remembers instantly feeling less alone, her words landing and bringing with them a deep sense of comfort that his mom had never been able to provide, no matter how desperately Buck sought it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

When he told her about the twenty-foot tall monster he had seen in his dreams that night, she didn’t laugh. She didn’t tell him to go back to sleep, or wave her hand dismissively and tell him that there was no such thing as monsters. She listened and nodded and when he was done, said “That would have scared me, too. You were really brave.” 

Any time the nightmares came after that, Buck went to Maddie. She’d wake to find him at the foot of her bed, his fingers trembling as he clutched his beloved stuffed armadillo to his chest. And each time, she’d pull back the blankets and wait for him to climb into bed beside her. Most times they didn’t even speak, Buck’s frenzied heartbeat leveling out just knowing Maddie was there. 

Life felt a lot less scary with his sister beside him. 

And when Maddie went to camp the following summer, Buck’s chest ached as he sat on the foot of her bed and watched as she put a pile of folded t-shirts into her suitcase. “It’s only two months,” she reminded him. “You’ll be old enough to come with me next year.”

“What if I have bad dreams?” he had asked, his voice small. 

She had nodded towards her bedroom window. “Open the window,” she said confidently. “That way, the bad dreams can escape. And they won’t bother you.” 

Thirty-odd years later and he’s still doing it. Not on the nights when Eddie’s beside him as he drifts off– on those nights he finds sleep easily. Comfort comes with the dip of the mattress under Eddie’s weight, nightmares warded off with the brush of his lips against Buck’s temple.

But when Eddie’s working late and the bed’s too big and the sheets too cold, the open window is the only thing that calms him. 

And now, look where it’s gotten him. 


	3. everything's on the way out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ladies and gentlemen, girls, gays, and theys, this is your captain speaking. please fasten your seatbelts, as this guilt trip is about to get turbulent

_Through a window._

The guilt comes in waves. 

Waves that, before, were lapping at his heels, agonizing as they kissed the spot on his ankle tarnished by the brush of unfamiliar fingers. Waves, now magnified, swelling with Bobby’s words and ready to break. Buck’s heart pounds against his ribcage, his fingers tremble at his sides as the tide of the guilt crashes over him, his lungs filling with an acrid cocktail of remorse and shame. It burns with each breath, his chest growing heavy beneath the burden of his own self-loathing. It’s enough to nearly suffocate him. 

So he leans in. He surrenders, doesn’t fight it. After all, it’s what he deserves. 

He can’t bring himself to meet Eddie’s eyes as he follows Athena into the meeting room. He blinks twice, pulling himself together as best he can. As the door swings open, he shoves the guilt down with a deep, shaky breath, steeling himself as he steps inside. 

The directors of the NSA and CIA are already inside, standing over the refreshments at the edge of the conference table. The two older gentlemen look up from where they’re chatting as they pour coffee and choose pastries, greeting Buck and Athena as the double doors click shut behind them. Buck looks at the table, his heart dropping to his feet as he notices his name plate by the seat directly in front of the window. His pulse quickens as he thinks about spending the next hour with his back to the glass. Sure, he can see the door from this seat, but he’s not worried about that. Eddie’s at the door, just on the other side of it. And nothing, no one, could get past Eddie. 

Athena sees the way Buck stills, pausing in front of the table, even if only for a beat. She catches the way he glances between his name plate and the window, followed by how he swallows slowly before sucking in an unsteady breath. As he takes his seat across the table from her, he drops his hands to his lap, hiding them beneath the table where no one can see him wringing them together. 

“Good morning,” Buck says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he looks around the table. “Should we get started?” 

“Mr. President,” Athena cuts in. “I’m awfully sorry, but would you mind switching with me?” She rises from her chair, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes. “This damn sun.” 

Buck pauses, looking up at her from across the table. There’s a fleeting, unspoken moment of understanding between them as their eyes meet. And then Buck rises to his feet, nodding. “Of course.” 

Athena swaps the folders and name plates on the table before walking around to her new seat. As she passes Buck, her back to the other men, she brushes her hand against his and winks. Swift and furtive, it’s her unspoken way of making sure he knows he’s not alone here. The crushing weight on his chest eases up as he drops into the chair facing the window. 

The comfort that came with Athena’s gesture is multiplied as he settles into his new seat and realizes there’s no sunlight coming through the window. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if he should be concerned that some of the nation’s top security leaders seemingly lack the observational skills to have noticed that. But he shoves the thought aside, instead choosing to focus on the way his breath comes a little easier, how his heart beats a little slower. 

“We can close the curtains,” the CIA director offers as Buck and Athena switch seats.

“No,” Buck is quick to say, practically tripping over the word in his haste to blurt it out. He clears his throat, regaining his composure just as quickly as he lost it. A loose smile returns to his face as he says, “It would be a crime to lose this natural light. It’s not bothering me.”

And while he does appreciate the sunlight coming in through the large windows overlooking the rose garden, his answer lies more in the fear of the closed curtains, in what could go unseen. Athena doesn’t miss the way his hand shakes as he opens the folder in front of him. He’s quick to flex his fingers and regain his composure, but it’s not lost on her.

“Shall we begin?” she asks, eager to shift the group’s attention away from Buck. 

It’s a futile attempt, as not even fifteen minutes pass before the NSA director raises an eyebrow and says, “So, Mr. President. I heard you had quite the night.” 

Buck’s throat feels impossibly dry as he tries to swallow around the golf ball-sized lump that’s suddenly appeared. He laughs weakly, drumming his fingers against his thigh. “Something like that, yeah.” 

“I don’t have to send my guys in and show the Secret Service how it’s done, do I?” the CIA director chimes in. It’s meant as a joke, but Buck doesn’t find it funny at all. 

“Definitely not,” he replies, a curt edge to his voice. The fact that anyone could know what happened last night and still question the Secret Service’s ability to protect him is incomprehensible, as far as he’s concerned. Not when they saved him. 

“You sure?”

“Positive,” Buck all but snaps, any remaining shreds of levity gone from his voice. “The Secret Service remains exceptionally capable.”

The NSA director leans back in his chair. “Well, speaking of last night,” he begins. “It’s a matter of national security, so we should discuss it.” 

Athena catches the way Buck stiffens, if only for a second. The NSA director opens his mouth to continue, pausing as Athena holds up a hand to stop him. “You know what, boys?” she says. “I’m meeting with the Secret Service after this. Why don’t I get the report from them and then we can circle back afterwards. Save us all from having the same conversation twice.” 

They nod in agreement, Buck’s silent sigh of relief coming as the topic shifts away from him and the events of last night. 

He’s still keyed up a half hour later, as the meeting draws to a close. His fingers are still a little twitchy, his heart still beating a hair too fast in his chest as he tears his eyes away from his colleagues to steal another glance at the window. As they all stand to leave, Athena lingers, making some excuse about organizing files as she waves the other directors off. 

The door closes, leaving her alone in the room with Buck. As he rises from his chair, he meets her eyes. “Thank you, Athena,” he says. The simple sentence carries with it an abundance of words unspoken. Though unsaid, none of it goes unheard. Athena steps around the side of the table and wraps Buck in a hug.

He melts into her embrace, choking on a wave of emotion as she pets his hair and whispers, “I got you, Buckaroo.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says into her hair. “I–”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she assures him, stepping back and holding him at arm’s length. Buck is instantly grounded beneath the gentle press of her fingers against his elbows as she continues. “Bobby told me what happened. You did everything right.” 

A shaky exhale escapes Buck’s lips, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, people keep saying that,” he says. “I’m just not sure I believe it.”

“What _do_ you believe?”

Buck shrugs. “That it was my fault.” 

Athena shakes her head. “Buck, that man took so much from you last night,” she says, patting his cheek sympathetically. The pain in his eyes is almost too much for her to bear. “He took your power and your comfort and your sense of security. And none of that is your fault.” 

Buck’s lower lip quivers, his eyes shining as Athena’s words sink in. “What now?”

“Now, you get it back. You be Buck.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Athena’s eyes are soft as she squeezes his bicep reassuringly. “It means you never give up.”

Buck’s met with Eddie’s hand on his elbow as he steps out of the conference room behind Athena. “Hey,” Eddie says as Buck pauses, turning to face him. “So, the report’s in.” 

“Yeah, uh,” Buck stammers, motioning to the conference room doors from which he just exited. “I– I heard what happened.” 

“Oh, okay,” Eddie says. “I was going to fill you in, but if you know already…” Eddie’s not sure where the rest of his sentence is going. His words trail off before he inhales and says, “Well, I sent a copy up for you.” 

“Thanks,” Buck replies, a small, sad smile playing on his face. He knows full well he won’t read it, his stomach turning over at even the thought of reliving last night, especially knowing now what he does about how the guy got inside. But he’s grateful that Eddie thought of him, that he got him a copy. At the same time, it magnifies the guilt burning in his chest– Eddie’s so good to him, and what does Buck give him in return? Reason to feel unsafe in their own home.

“You’re coming back, right?” Buck asks, nodding at where Bobby and Athena are waiting for Eddie a few feet away. “After the briefing.”

Eddie nods. “The second it’s over,” he assures him. “Hen’s going to take you to the Oval. By the time you finish your caucus meeting, I’ll be back. Promise.” 

Buck clings to Eddie’s promise and tries not to look visibly disgusted at the mention of his meeting with some of the most abhorrently conservative members of Congress. “God, give me strength,” he mutters under his breath. 

Eddie grabs his hand, squeezing it reassuringly before letting it fall to Buck’s side. “If I could kiss you right now, I would,” he all but whispers.

Buck’s smile is soft, fleeting. It’s gone too soon and it doesn't reach his eyes, but for the first time all day, it’s there. “Might be the last time,” he quips. “If those soul-suckers sink their claws into me in your absence.”

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. “A handful of ignorant, close-minded racists are nothing you can’t handle. You got this.” Hen rounds the corner just then, tagging Eddie out to walk Buck back to his office. As Eddie sees her approach, he adds, loud enough for her to hear, “Plus, say the word and Hen will start swinging.”

Hen laughs. “You know it. Who’s catching these hands today, Buckaroo?”

“The Liberty Caucus,” he says. “Though it depends on if they’re on good behavior this time.” 

“Well, you know my policy,” Hen says. “The time is always right to punch a racist.”

Eddie grins. “Have fun, you two.”

Buck looks back at him, met with a look equal parts steady and intent. “I’ll see you soon,” Eddie promises, rocking on his heels just enough for their pinkies to brush as Buck steps forward. 

“What’s that?” Athena nods at the scraped paint on the far wall of Eddie’s office. 

He and Bobby share a look before saying a simultaneous, “Nothing.” 

“Mmhm,” Athena hums, not buying that for a second. She takes a seat and looks across the desk at Eddie, raising an eyebrow. “And where’s your desk phone, Special Agent Diaz?” 

Eddie looks at Bobby, tipping his head towards where Athena sits beside him. “She’s good,” he says. 

Bobby laughs, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“So,” Athena says, setting her folder down and looking between Bobby and Eddie. “Have either of you talked to Buck today?”

When they both nod, Athena shakes her head. “I mean _really_ talked to him.”

“Why?” Bobby asks. 

Athena sighs, her eyes sympathetic as they meet Eddie’s. “He’s falling apart,” she says.

Eddie’s heart drops to his feet. His chest feels tight beneath the weight of the guilt that’s been eating at him since the first blare of the alarm last night. “He thinks he’s holding it together, but he’s not. He’s not okay.” 

She goes on to tell them about what happened in their meeting, about the window-facing seat and the trembling hands, how her hug afterwards was met with shaky breaths and a broken-off sob. It’s as if Athena’s taken a chisel to the crack in Eddie’s chest, her words bringing with them the driving force of a mallet, splitting him open in a single swift move. He drops his head to his hands, his eyes screwing shut as he struggles around a deep breath. 

From the moment he met him, Eddie knew Buck’s heart was made of fire, his desire to love and be loved burning sure and steady. Anytime it started to burn out, when winds of doubt blew through and threatened to snuff out the flame, Eddie fanned it twice as hard. And on those rare occasions when it burnt out, Eddie’s attempts to relight it came by way of pinky brushes and forehead kisses, words of affirmation and promises to never leave. 

Reckless by nature, Buck doesn’t fear many things. Spiders and snakes and combat zones with flying bullets don’t phase him. Neither do natural disasters and fast motorcycles and new adventures. Instead, his most deep seated fear lies in being alone– being left behind. 

And Eddie promised. He swore to Buck that he’d never leave him behind, that he’d never be alone. And now he’s eating those words. They’re bitter, laced with shame as he chokes them down alongside the harrowing realization of just how profoundly he failed him. He promised Buck he’d never leave him alone. And then he did. 

And look what happened. 

“It’s my fault,” Eddie says, his voice unsteady. His mind is stuck on the line in the report where Buck recalled the man speaking to him. _I’m so glad to have gotten you alone._ Alone. Buck’s worst fear, actualized. Capitalized upon, and Eddie’s to blame. “I did this.”

“No, you didn’t.” It’s Bobby’s voice. Eddie winces at its calm and even tone, the way Bobby speaks as if what he’s saying is fact rather than the bold-faced lie Eddie knows it to be. 

“I did,” Eddie insists. His head is heavy with the pressure of repressed tears, pooling behind his eyes as his heart pounds in his ears. “I wasn’t enough.” 

His voice breaks, Bobby and Athena sharing a sad look. 

“Eddie,” Bobby says. “Look at me.” 

Eddie picks his head up, his red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears not yet shed. 

“That’s not true,” Bobby continues. 

Eddie shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip in a last-ditch attempt to keep the tears from escaping. “I’d do anything for him,” he mutters. “Anything. And it still wasn’t enough. _I_ wasn’t enough.” 

“What more could you have done?” Bobby asks. "Eddie, you did everything you could. You did right by him, as far as the rest of us are concerned."

Eddie doesn’t realize how deeply he’s craving physical comfort until Athena places her hand atop his trembling one. It sends the first tear falling, rolling down his cheek as he sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth. 

“You dropped everything the second the alarm sounded,” Bobby reminds him. “You were the first agent through those doors, the first one to get to him.” 

“It’s my fault. If I had just–”

“If you had what?” Bobby presses. 

“Been there.”

“You couldn’t have. You know that.”

It’s true– Eddie was on the clock until midnight, completing his mandatory office hours. There’s no way he could’ve been upstairs earlier, no matter how much he wanted to be. Despite knowing Bobby’s right, he can’t shake the feeling that he failed– that there’s more he could’ve done. 

“He deserves better,” Eddie says quietly. “I’ve failed him so many times, I don’t know why he still trusts me.”

“You’re still here,” Bobby points out.

Eddie shrugs. “As much as I’ve hated myself, I’ve always loved him more.” 

“Eddie,” Athena says, rubbing her thumb against Eddie’s knuckles. “There’s no one better for this job than you. And you know I wouldn’t say that in front of Bobby if I didn’t mean it.” 

Eddie’s breath catches on a wet laugh. He wipes at his eyes, his pulse throbbing in his temples. 

The Liberty Caucus, as it turns out, was _not_ on good behavior. Though, to be fair, Buck could have called that one from a mile away with a blindfold on. Not even ten minutes into the meeting, one of the Representatives mentioned the events of the night before. “I heard some lunatic crawled up the drain pipe last night.” 

Buck’s breath hitched in his throat. “Not a lunatic,” he clarified. As traumatized he was by the events of the previous evening, the _last_ thing he wanted was the incident to be used as an opportunity to perpetuate the use of insensitive language and vilify mental illness, two things a _certain_ political party was so fond of. “A man with untreated mental illness.” 

“And what, he tried to kill you?” 

Buck could feel himself rapidly losing control, anxiety coursing through his veins with each beat of his racing heart. He took a deep breath in an attempt to hang onto what little shreds of composure he had left. “No,” Buck said. “He just wanted to talk.” 

“You democrats and your talking,” one of the other caucus members had chimed in. “You tell people that talking things out is the answer, and this is what it gets you.”

“Given the alternative, I’m glad he chose to exercise his first amendment rights instead of his second,” Buck practically snapped. He knew better than to engage in pissing matches with conservatives– really, he did– but sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself. 

“Well, I don’t know what you expect, being as reckless as you are.” 

“Reckless?” Buck had asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You get too close to the people, let them get too close to you. Let them think they can do things like come into your home in the middle of the night for a chat. I mean, come on, Mr. President.” 

Buck was floored. He bit his tongue, the firm pressure of his teeth the only thing stopping him from taking Hen up on her offer from before. 

“Your actions have consequences, son. Don’t tell me you’re just now learning that.”

The sinking feeling in Buck’s stomach remained throughout the rest of the meeting, still raging even now as the last of the caucus members file out of the office. He leans back against the front of his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the stress headache that’s coming on with a vengeance.

“Hey.” 

He’d know that voice anywhere. Sure enough, he looks up to see Eddie walking in, closing the door to the Oval behind himself. “We should talk.”

Buck’s heart is in his throat as Eddie crosses the room and sits on the edge of the desk. His eyes are shining, his jaw set as he meets Buck’s gaze. 

Buck’s seen this look in Eddie’s eyes only once before– right after they were shot at two years ago and Eddie blamed himself. Buck realizes with a start that it’s guilt. Eddie feels guilty. It doesn’t sit right with him– what does Eddie have to feel guilty for?

“Listen,” Eddie says. His voice wobbles, emotion seeping through the cracks in the walls he’s so carefully constructed. “This won’t change you and me. We’re still _us_ , okay? But if– if you want a new agent, I understand.” 

Buck’s frozen in place. “Wait, what?” 

“If you don’t want me protecting you anymore,” Eddie says. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want me, either.” 

Buck takes a beat to process Eddie’s words, completely taken aback. Even the mere thought of a world existing in which Buck wants anyone else leading his detail– anyone but Eddie beside him each day– makes his stomach turn. “What are you talking about?” he asks, brow furrowed. “Of course I don’t want that.” 

“But I–”

Buck cuts him off, shaking his head. “I don’t want a new agent. Now or ever. I want you, Eddie. I trust _you._ ”

Eddie blinks, almost in disbelief. “After everything that happened?"

“A freak accident happened, Eddie.” 

“I failed you, Buck.” 

“No, you saved me,” Buck insists. How Eddie can’t see that is beyond him. “That’s how I remember it.”

Eddie takes a long, deep breath, shaking his head. The guilt is eating him alive, gnawing at him from the inside out. It’s a wonder it hasn’t swallowed him whole at this point. Though Eddie supposes that would be far too quick of a punishment– the easy way out– when really, he deserves this. Deserves to have it drawn out, each passing minute more painful than the one before. Deserves to suffocate slowly beneath the crippling weight of his own self-hatred. “I– I was supposed to look out for you.”

“And what, you think you failed?” Buck asks, as if it’s the most ridiculous notion in the word. 

Eddie drops his gaze to the floor, his unspoken confirmation deafening. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, placing a hand on his shoulder. His thumb brushes against Eddie’s collarbone reassuringly as he bobs his head to seek out Eddie’s eyes. “There's nobody in this world I trust with my life more than you.”

Eddie relaxes beneath Buck’s touch, the vice grip on his chest easing up as Buck’s words land, finding purchase in Eddie’s heart and slowing the rapid drum of his pulse.

“I don’t blame you, Eds. I never have, not even for a second. This wasn’t your fault,” Buck continues. “It was mine.” 

Eddie’s brows knit together, confusion coloring his face. That very well may be the most ridiculous thing to ever come out of Buck’s mouth, second only to the time he asked Eddie if cereal counted as soup. It’s so insane– the notion that Buck had _anything_ to do with this– that Eddie’s sure he heard him wrong. “What?”

Thick waves of distress are coming off him, seeping through his pores and consuming the air around him as he meets Eddie’s eyes. “Christopher,” Buck finally says, his voice breaking. He’s drowning in the hypotheticals, his stomach turning over as he envisions the man on the foot of Christopher’s bed. He bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard it draws blood, his mouth filling with a sickening metallic taste as he screws his eyes shut and wills that thought away. His eyes are wet, shining as he shakes his head. “He could’ve hurt Christopher. What if he was here, Eddie?” 

“But he wasn’t,” Eddie reminds him. Admittedly, he’s shied away from thinking about what could’ve happened had Christopher been with them last night. The thought alone– and the breakdown that would undoubtedly accompany it, should Eddie give it more than a cursory acknowledgement– is almost too much to bear. It’s long since been compartmentalized, tucked away on the top-most shelf in the back of Eddie’s mind, along with the fear and anxiety that came with it. 

Buck looks up at the ceiling, unable to meet Eddie’s eyes as he says, “If you don’t want him staying here any more, I won’t blame you.” 

“What?” Eddie cuts in, looking at Buck quizzically. “Of course I still want Christopher staying here. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of me.”

“You?” 

“It was me,” Buck says. His voice is barely above a whisper– he can hardly hear it himself, especially with the way his heartbeat is pounding in his ears. 

Eddie’s not following. “What was you?” 

“The– the window,” Buck says. The guilt materializes as hot, shameful tears, pricking at his eyelids and threatening to spill over as he takes a shaky breath. “It was me. I– I’m sorry, Eddie. I left the window open.” 

“What?” Eddie repeats.

Buck swallows, a fresh wave of nausea turning over in his stomach. “The window. That he used to get in. I– I left it open. I always open it before bed. He must have…” 

“You mean the window in our bedroom?” Eddie asks as Buck’s voice trails off. When met with Buck’s repentant nod, Eddie shakes his head. “The window he used was on the south side, in the staff kitchen. There’s no way he could’ve gotten to our bedroom window, even if he’d tried. Not without a rappelling kit, anyway.” 

“I– I didn’t do this?” Buck asks. 

Some combination of anger and self-loathing sparks up in Eddie’s gut as he realizes that Buck’s spent his day thinking that he’s responsible for what happened. He didn’t think to clarify earlier when Buck told him he knew what had happened, for which Eddie’s kicking himself now. He thinks back to the hollow look on Buck’s face as he came out of the conference room. The heavy, vacant look in his eyes, which Eddie had attributed to lack of sleep and residual anxiety from the night before. Only now, he knows there was guilt in there, too. The realization hits him hard, sucking the air from his lungs as his stomach drops.

He’s furious with himself for dropping the ball, for letting this much time pass before realizing Buck didn’t have the full truth. Even angrier for missing the signs of guilt, the shame Buck’s so clearly been carrying around. As if waking up to an intruder at the foot of the bed wasn’t enough, Buck– rather, the broken shell of him standing before Eddie now– thought he was at fault. Eddie’s no stranger to the feeling. The way that guilt manages to force its way in until it clouds your mind, how it fills your lungs and squeezes at your heart until you can’t feel anything but the crippling weight of your own shame? Yeah, Eddie’s familiar. And knowing that Buck was going through that today only fans the sparks of regret into a flame, burning white-hot in his gut as he steps forward and takes Buck’s face in hands.

Eddie’s heart clenches as his eyes meet Buck’s, rimmed in red. Eddie says, “No. Of course not.” He trails his thumb across Buck’s jaw, holding his gaze as he does. “You said it yourself. It was a freak accident. He just… he slipped through the cracks somehow.” 

Buck dips his chin, his gaze dropping to the ground as Eddie cards a hand through his hair.

“And even if it _was_ the bedroom window,” Eddie continues, tipping Buck’s chin up with the gentle press of two of his fingers. “It still wouldn’t be your fault. Okay? I need you to know that.” 

Buck doesn’t reply, silently grappling with Eddie’s words. The thing is, Eddie tells the truth. Always. 

Buck knows this. He trusts Eddie more than anyone in the world, knows he wouldn’t ever lie for the sake of placating him. And yet, he can’t shake the feeling that he caused this, that those Representatives from his meeting earlier are right– that he invited this consequence of his own reckless behavior. He was asking for it. 

Eddie’s never struggled to read Buck like a book– though with those over expressive eyebrows and heart-stopping pout, he’s not sure he ever had to try especially hard. And now, his eyes downcast as he chews on his bottom lip, Eddie knows his words– although not lost on Buck– aren’t sticking in the way they so desperately need to. 

“What if it was Christopher?” Eddie asks after a beat. 

Buck’s not following. “What do you mean?”

“If Chris left his bedroom window open here and someone got in. And he was beating himself up over it, thinking it was his fault,” Eddie says. “What would you tell him?”

“That he’s being ridiculous,” Buck’s reply comes without hesitation, his chest lifting as his shoulders straighten. Even the idea of Christopher blaming himself for something so far out of his control sends a protective streak surging through his body. “He shouldn’t have to live in fear of people climbing in his bedroom window at night. That’s absurd.” 

Eddie doesn't say anything, just purses his lips, raises an eyebrow, and waits for the gears in Buck’s mind to catch up. When they do, Buck sighs, his argument lost on his parted lips.

Eddie’s eyes are gentle, his voice insistent. “Why is it any different for you?” he asks. “You have every right to be able to open a window in your home. You could have been standing on the balcony with a neon sign and a megaphone and that _still_ doesn’t give anyone the right to violate your privacy or threaten your safety.” 

“I signed up for this,” Buck says. 

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, his voice soft. “You didn’t. What happened is _so_ far beyond anything you should ever even have to consider, let alone worry about.” He brushes his thumb across Buck’s cheek. “And all this pain and guilt you’re walking around with? You have to let go of it.”

“I could say the same to you,” Buck points out. 

“Both of us, then,” Eddie suggests. “We’ll both let it go. Or try our best to, at least. Deal?”

The genuine smile that spreads across Buck’s face awakens something in Eddie he hadn’t realized had gone dormant. “Deal.” 

Later, Buck’s sprawled out across the couch, his head on one of the cushions, his legs draped across Eddie’s lap as they flip through the channels. The room smells like pizza and Eddie’s lips taste like beer and coming home against the corner of Buck’s mouth. And when his whispered, “I love you,” is punctuated with a gentle squeeze to Buck’s ankle, it’s met with a wince that takes them both by surprise. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks, frozen in place as his eyes search Buck’s face frantically.

Buck turns away in an attempt to hide the shame manifesting itself in the flush on his cheeks. “Yeah, fine,” he lies. “Sorry.”

“Buck,” Eddie says. When Buck gives in and turns to look at him, Eddie’s stomach drops. “Did I hurt you?” he breathes. Buck looks like he’s a second away from crying, the pit in Eddie’s stomach growing twice as fast with each passing second. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I–”

“No,” Buck’s insistence falls flat, far from convincing. “No, Eddie. You didn’t.”

Eddie wants nothing more than to brush his hand against Buck’s cheek, to card a hand through his hair and kiss the pained look off his face. But Buck’s wince replays in his mind, his sharp intake of breath and the way he jerked his leg out from beneath Eddie’s touch, unable to meet his eyes. 

There’s an air of déjà vu about it, something Eddie can’t quite place right away. It takes him a minute to recall the similar sequence in bed this morning, but once he does, his breath comes a little quicker. His jaw sets, his heart pounds as he puts the pieces together. Bile rises in the back of his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did he hurt you?”


	4. now it's all rearranging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again, this is your captain speaking. thank you for joining us on this guilt trip! please put your trays in the upright positions as we begin our descent. the local time in washington dc is 1:09 am, where it's 27ºF and cloudy with a chance of heartache.

“Did he hurt you?”

Eddie’s question hangs in the air, clinging to the space between them as his heart pounds against his ribs. Buck’s silence is deafening, the quiet between them stretching too long. “Buck,” Eddie all but whispers, his eyes holding Buck's gaze in a silent plea.

“He didn’t mean to,” Buck says finally, his voice hollow as he blinks slowly. He curls his legs in, pulling them from Eddie’s lap and tucking his ankles beneath himself. Eddie pretends the loss of contact doesn’t drive the knife even further into his heart, instead focusing on how Buck didn’t say no. 

He asked if the guy hurt him, and _Buck didn’t say no_.

Eddie thinks he’s going to combust. He can feel himself ticking closer and closer to the point of no return, his skin buzzing as if there’s a live round beneath it, waiting for the inevitable explosion. White-hot anger surges through him, compounded by the broken look on Buck’s face, the way he won’t hold Eddie’s gaze. “I’ll kill him,” Eddie mutters through gritted teeth. He thinks he means it, too. His fingers twitch, conscious effort required to keep them from curling into fists atop his lap. 

“Eddie,” the word lost amidst a defeated sigh. “It— it’s fine.” 

“No it’s not,” Eddie says quickly. “It’s not fine.” His voice is softer now, gentle and tender and made up of all the things that Buck loves most about him. “Do you want to tell me?” 

The unspoken  _ what he did to you _ at the end of his sentence has both their stomachs churning. 

Buck takes a shaky breath, tipping his head back and looking up at the ceiling. His memories of the previous night flash through his mind in the worst kind of supercut: the dip of the mattress, the rustle of the sheets, the feel of the panic button beneath his finger. The gravelly rasp of his voice plays over in Buck’s mind.  _ I’m so glad to have gotten you alone.  _

Buck had tried his best to keep the panic off his face, worked hard to conceal the fear bubbling up inside him as he propped himself up on his elbows and asked, “Why’s that?” 

It had been the longest moment of his life, waiting for a response. “You’re my favorite President,” he had said. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.” 

Buck was frozen in place, his heart in his stomach as the man turned to face him. As he did, his fingers brushed against Buck’s ankle, the heat of his touch penetrating the sheets and soaking into his bones. 

Suddenly, he was eight years old again, waking up in tears after dreaming that a monster crawled out from under his bed and dragged him away by his ankles. Each night after that, Maddie made a point to check under his bed and tuck his blankets extra tight around his legs. He was eight years old again, down to the heart-stopping fear and the cold sweat. 

Only this time, he was alone. And the monster managed to get past the blanket shield. 

He jerked his leg back instinctively. 

“Shh,” the guy said, the glint in his eyes sending another wave of chills down Buck’s spine. It wasn’t a malicious look by any means– frenetic more than anything– but still unsettling in its own right. His voice softened as he looked at Buck and said, “I just want to talk.” 

“Talk,” Buck had repeated, shifting nervously. He cleared his throat, attempting to mask the anxiety threatening to consume him.  _ Help is coming _ , he reminded himself. He hit the button, so help was coming. Eddie was coming. He just had to keep himself and the man at the foot of the bed calm until then. He could do that. “Okay. Let’s talk, then. What–” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, interrupted by the door flying open, snapping back on the hinges as Eddie barreled in. And suddenly, Buck could breathe again. 

When Eddie had taken his statement immediately afterwards, he hadn’t mentioned the fingers on his ankle. Mostly because it meant he’d have to acknowledge it– would have to confront the fact of what happened. And if he did that, if he spoke those words out loud, then he couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. 

And if he could pretend it didn’t happen, then he wouldn't have to face the shame. Shame and self-loathing and culpability that came for a few reasons. 

For starters, it could have been worse. It could have been so much worse, in so many different ways. Buck knows that. He was lucky. Plus, he doesn't think the guy even meant to do it. If he had, he’d have reached again when Buck jerked away. 

Objectively, he knows he shouldn’t think like that, shouldn’t minimize his own traumatizing experience because it _could’ve been worse_ and because _he didn’t mean to_. In the same way he knows he shouldn’t feel so gross about it. 

He just… he feels _dirty._ The rational part of his brain knows that he shouldn’t, that he’s not marred, tainted. Though rational as it may be, the part of him that still burns at the memory of the contact is far more powerful. It sends flames licking at his skin amidst chants of _damaged goods_. And it doesn’t make much of an effort to quell the guilt, doesn't stop the way his stomach flips, the disgust that rises in his chest. 

The final piece of his shame lies in the moments after it happened. His lack of reaction, the way he just… accepted it. Scooted back against the headboard and just sat there, waiting to be rescued. Fight or flight, and he chose neither. He hates himself for it. What kind of leader does that make him? What kind of partner? 

And then he thinks of Chris. He wonders if he’d have been such a coward if the man wandered into Christopher’s bedroom instead. His stomach rolls with nausea at the thought alone. 

So, yeah. He had his reasons not to bring it up to Eddie. Not to mention the fact that the look in Eddie’s eyes was already just shy of homicidal, pacified only by the fact that Buck was unharmed. Buck knew that if Eddie learned the guy did, in fact, lay a hand on him, he would come unhinged. And Buck couldn’t let Eddie go flying off the edge. Not now, not when Buck was so… broken. He’d always been the net under the ledge, Eddie’s safe place to fall. Except now, he didn’t trust himself to do that anymore– to be that for Eddie.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to do anything right anymore.  So he kept it in. 

But now, Eddie knows. Eddie knows and he doesn't look at him like he’s damaged goods. He doesn't look at him like he’s a coward. It’s not pity coloring Eddie’s face. It’s concern, his eyes wide and searching as he bites the corner of his lip. 

And as it registers, Buck realizes just how ridiculous he was to ever think Eddie might pity him, might think any less of him. It’s Eddie, after all. Sweet, gentle, forever loyal and fiercely protective Eddie. The sun shines brighter when Eddie’s around. His shoulders feel lighter, his breath comes easier. Eddie makes everything better. Why would this be any different?

So he tells him everything. 

“He didn’t hurt me,” Buck says, afterwards. “Not physically, anyway.”

Eddie reaches for Buck instinctively, stopping himself almost immediately. He wants to ask, wants to be absolutely sure. “C–Can I touch you?” he asks, his hands hovering in the space between them, his chest burning as he waits for Buck’s answer. 

Buck’s nod is slow, almost hesitant at first. It quickly turns sure, certain as his eyes meet Eddie’s. “Please,” his voice breaks around the word. 

Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice. He pulls Buck into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as his hand runs up and down his back reassuringly. “I’m sorry,” he hums into Buck’s hair. “I’m sorry.” 

Buck looks up at him through his lashes, half a frown on his face. “What do you have to be sorry for?” 

“It took me this long to realize,” Eddie says. “I… you’ve been carrying this around and I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Buck shrugs. There’s a lump in his throat all of a sudden. The truth of it is, he lost his sense of safety last night. His personal space, his privacy, his safety, all violated. And in his favorite place in the world: the bed he shares with Eddie. A place once so sacred, so precious, now defiled. Violated. 

And what’s worse is he’s not sure he has any right to feel this way. Not when it could’ve been worse. When the intention wasn’t all bad. When he could’ve done more to stop it. 

But more than that, he doesn’t feel safe any more. And admitting that— letting Eddie in on just how scared he was, how anxious he still is— is a burden far too big to place on Eddie’s shoulders. So Buck has committed to carrying it alone, sparing Eddie the pain he knows would come with his admission. 

It’s all tied up in his feelings of responsibility towards Eddie. From the moment they first met, there’s never been a shred of doubt that Eddie’s number one priority, above all else, is Buck's safety and well-being. And knowing just how deeply they were both damaged last night would absolutely destroy him. Buck knows that. 

So instead of telling him, he just shrugs. “Not like you could’ve undone it.” 

“Maybe not. But I could’ve helped you carry the weight of it.” Eddie’s hand comes to rest at the nape of Buck’s neck. Buck isn’t sure if the warmth radiating across his body all of a sudden is coming from Eddie’s touch or the soft sense of urgency in his voice as he says, “I still can.” 

And the burden Buck was nearly suffocating beneath— the same one he thought was too big for Eddie’s shoulders— suddenly feels a lot lighter. He wonders, for a fleeting moment, if it’s gone. And then, as Eddie’s thumb brushes against the back of his neck and the featherlight press of his lips lands on his temple, Buck realizes what’s happened. 

It’s not gone, just shifted. Shared between the two of them, the weight distributed evenly. 

And for the first time in 24 hours, Buck doesn’t feel like he’s drowning any more. 

But it doesn't last long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started out as four chapters BUT i am incapable of shutting up about these two, so it's now gonna be at least six. thanks for reading and sticking with me as i write it in real time! all the love ❤️


	5. nothing really left to say now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh you thought the guilt trip was over? think again baby

Later, once Buck’s curled up in bed, his cheek pressed into the mattress as he snores softly, Eddie goes into the bathroom and calls Bobby. It’s not like Eddie was going to be sleeping anyway, not when his mind hasn’t stopped racing since the second Buck pulled away from him earlier. Not when he’s inching closer to rampage with each passing second, his chest aching and his jaw clenched. And certainly not when a desire for violence burns unabated beneath his skin. 

Buck, on the other hand, had been quick to fall asleep. Eddie knew he was exhausted, could see it in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slowness by which he blinked, and in the bounce missing from his step. He was relieved to hear Buck’s breathing even out so quickly, tucked into Eddie’s side as he ran his fingers through his hair absentmindedly. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the way Buck’s knees were folded into his chest, his ankles crossed over one another and tucked behind him. 

Buck has always been quick to wrap himself around Eddie– as if he’s a 6’2” koala bear instead of the leader of the free world– sleep coming easily as he leeches Eddie’s body heat and inhales in his scent. He just wants to be close, never hesitating to drape himself over Eddie, humming contentedly as their legs tangle together beneath the sheets. 

Which is why Eddie’s heart plummeted to his feet at the sight of Buck curled in on himself, his ankles as far away from Eddie as possible without Buck turning himself into a contortionist of sorts. It sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him, followed by an equally overpowering rush of self-loathing. He sat and stewed in it for a while before the thrum of his pulse in his ears got to be too much and he slipped out of bed and dialed Bobby’s number.

“Eddie?” he answers on the second ring. 

“Did I wake you?” Eddie asks, his quick glance at the nightstand clock before getting out of bed having told him it’s just shy of midnight. 

“No,” Bobby replies. Eddie can’t tell if it’s the truth, but there’s a sense of calm that comes with the sound of Bobby’s voice, so he decides to take it at face value. “What’s up? Is Buck okay?” 

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that. So instead, he says, “Is Athena awake?” 

There’s some shuffling on the other end of the phone, and then her voice, concern softening the edges. “What’s going on, Eddie?” 

“What’s the sentence for premeditated murder?” 

“Thirty to life,” she says without missing a beat. Then, cautiously, she asks, “What did you do?” 

“Nothing,” Eddie says. “Yet. Just… weighing my options.” His attempt at levity does nothing to ease the ache in his chest. 

“I thought you were letting things go,” Athena says. He doesn’t have to be in the room with her to know she’s got one eyebrow raised, a knowing look on her face as she waits for his reply. 

The thing is, Eddie really did have good intentions of doing just that. After his conversation with Bobby and Athena in his office yesterday, he knew the best thing for him and Buck both was to hold space for the guilt and regret eating each of them alive and then make the conscious decision to move past it. A cause he was committed to for the six hours between said conversation and the moment Buck flinched away from his touch. 

But things are different now. 

“I was,” Eddie nods. “And then I found out he put his hands on Buck.”

Athena’s sharp inhale is unmistakable.

“He did _what_?” it’s Bobby’s voice now, thick with anger in a way Eddie’s only ever heard once or twice before. And when he speaks again, Eddie doesn’t recognize the hard edge to his voice. He sounds just as homicidal as Eddie feels. “Eddie. What happened?” 

The headline takes Buck by surprise, a 36-point Times New Roman slap to the face as he picks up the paper. His stomach drops to his feet, the breath punched out of his lungs as he reads it over again. 

**PRES. BUCKLEY VICTIM TO INTRUDER: SECRET SERVICE TO BLAME?**

_What?_ He drops into his desk chair, eyes still glued to the bold print. Buzzwords jump out at him as he reads the article, each one bringing with it a fresh wave of guilt. 

His conversation with Eddie last night had left Buck feeling lighter with the validation that came from Eddie’s response and the comfort of knowing the burden wasn’t his to carry alone. But now, eyes scanning over the paper while things like _inadequate protection_ and _completely avoidable_ and _unthinkable oversight_ stare back at him, his stomach turns over. 

The Secret Service is being questioned. The Secret Service who have saved his life on numerous occasions, who have stopped at nothing to keep him safe day in and day out. The same Secret Service who saved him. In more ways than one. 

They’re his family. Eddie and Bobby and Chim and Hen and every other agent who puts on a badge each morning and kisses their family goodbye knowing full well it could be the last time. And now they’re being questioned? Their integrity, their ability, their competence, all subject to dissection by the media and 300 million Americans. 

Buck blames himself.

His blood boils with some combination of anger and shame, and when he manages to get a breath past the lump in his throat, it burns deep in his chest like salt in a wound. 

He puts the paper face-down on his desk, thankful to be alone in the Oval this morning. Eddie and Bobby are overseeing the installation of new security features in the residence, leaving Bosko and Kinard stationed outside the doors in their place. 

As much as he longs for Eddie’s presence in the room with him, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to face him. Not with the knife still sticking out of his chest, driven straight through his heart by his daily media pile. Not with criticisms and condemnations jumping off the page and clinging to the air already thick with the acridity of his shame. 

He thinks he might choke on it. 

He stares down at the stack of newspapers and catches a picture of a tweet from a senator who happens to be one of the biggest thorns in Buck’s side. Buck swears the woman has made it her mission to antagonize him every chance she gets. Her disagreements and criticisms directed at Buck are relentless and come so vehemently that he’s pretty sure if he put out a memo saying the sky is blue and the Pope is Catholic, she’d find a way to denounce it. 

Buck’s always been good about not letting her get to him. Anytime she starts to weasel her way into his mind, if ever her words start to grate at him, he thinks back to something Eddie told him a year into his presidency. A few keyboard warriors had taken up residence in his mind after Buck fell into the bad habit of searching his indirects on Twitter before bed. “Would you seek advice from any of these people?” Eddie had asked him at one point, when the intrusive thoughts were starting to consume him. When met with a scoff and a look of disgust, Eddie nodded. “Exactly. Then why would you take criticism from them?” 

It was a good reminder, one Buck turned into a rule by which he lived hard and fast. It saved his sanity countless times in the years since. And it was an especially handy tool when dealing with a certain senator. He knew to write her off most of the time anyway, but on those days when she managed to sneak past his rationality and get underneath his skin, he always had Eddie’s reminder as a failsafe. 

But today, he’s too keyed up. His mind is drowning in waves of regret, leaving the executive functioning up to his bruised and weary heart, pumping out guilt and remorse with each agonizing beat. The bitter air of his own shame has eroded the locks on the gate to his mind. All it takes is a single glance at her tweet before she’s through the doors and settled in his head, rent-free. 

**@POTUS promised to protect and serve, but he can't even protect himself from an enemy in his own bed? And we’re supposed to trust this “commander in chief” to protect our nation?**

He glances at the stack of papers, and without much of a thought, shoves them across the desk and onto the ground. The sound they make as they hit the ground isn’t nearly satisfying enough, doesn’t come close to giving Buck the release he so desperately craves. So he kicks over one of the chairs beside his desk. And then his eyes land on the wooden box atop his desk filled with pens and paper clips and a compartment for his official stationery. The sickening feeling in his gut intensifies as his eyes land on the small drawing of the White House on top of the notecards, embossed in gold foil just above his name.

He grabs the box and hurls it across the room. 

It makes a sickening thump as it lands on the carpet, right in the middle of the Presidential seal. Bosko bursts into the room not even a second later, one hand on her hip-holstered weapon, eyes scanning around. Her eyes soften as she sees Buck standing behind his desk, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the oak, his jaw clenched. 

“Everything okay, Mr. President?” she asks, glancing between him and the mess on the ground– the box on its side, its contents strewn across the floor. She raises an eyebrow as she spots the kicked-over chair. 

When he first took office, Buck didn’t do too much rearranging in the Oval Office. But he had been quick to move the wooden chairs facing the Resolute Desk. He hated looking up and seeing the chairs in front of him, despised the feeling of superiority that came with looking across his desk at his confidants and advisors. He wanted to talk _with_ people, not to them. 

So, on his third day in office, he took the chairs and put one on either side of his desk, flanking the stained wood. And now, as he stares at the chair tipped over on the floor, the sinking feeling only magnifies inside him. 

He thinks back to that third day in office: the pride that swelled in his chest, the deep sense of honor that came with the nation’s trust, their faith in him. He was hopeful, starry-eyed, his determination unwavering. But most of all, he was proud. Proud of the things he was doing, the promises he was making, the person he was. 

It feels like a different lifetime, standing here now, his heart racing as he bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard he nearly draws blood. He wonders if that version of himself would recognize the Buck he is today, in this moment. If he’d despise what he sees as much as Buck does himself. 

“Mr. President?” Bosko repeats.

He closes his eyes as he exhales, nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m good.” 

“Alright,” she says, turning to leave. She pauses with a hand on the door, turning back to him and nodding towards the mess in the middle of the carpet. “You dropped something,” she says before ducking back out the door and closing it behind herself. 

He takes a deep breath, easing up on his grip on the desk and flexing his fingers. He turns and picks up the chair, setting it back into place. He takes care to line the legs up with the divots in the carpet made by four years’ worth of bodies in its seat. He looks up as the door opens quietly. 

“Did Lena send you?” he asks. 

Maddie shakes her head. “No, why?” She answers her own question as her eyes land on the mess on the floor. “I have a few minutes in between meetings and thought I’d check on you,” she explains, her eyes soft and sympathetic as she looks between him and the product of his momentary outburst. 

He waits for the follow-up he knows he deserves– a defeated sigh, a disapproving head shake, a wide-eyed “What happened?”– but it doesn’t come. Instead, Maddie quietly sets down her phone and portfolio, kneeling down to start gathering pens and paper clips and pieces of gold-embossed cardstock. It’s a simple gesture, but the relief and gratitude that beat from Buck’s heart as he watches her nearly knock him over. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says after a beat, his words finally returning. He moves around his desk to go help her, but she waves him off. 

“Sure I do,” Maddie says, standing up and crossing the room. She places the box back on his desk before bending down and picking up the discarded newspapers. She stacks them up neatly and moves to put them back on his desk. She pauses as she catches sight of the top headline. Rolling her eyes, she drops them into the wastebasket without so much as a word. “That’s what I’m here for.”

His resentment and regret are all but palpable, a toxic cloud around him. Buck’s never been any good at concealing his emotions, and today’s no exception. Maddie doesn't miss the silent anguish coloring his expression as he sighs and says, “Cleaning up my messes?”

Maddie shakes her head, frowning. She places a hand on his cheek, her touch bringing forth a certain sense of comfort that only his big sister’s ever been able to provide. “Picking up the pieces.” 

  
  


Buck feels a little bit better as he settles back in his desk chair, ready to get back to work. 

After picking up his mess, Maddie had taken a seat on one of the couches and all but pulled Buck down with her. “Presidential time-out,” she said, matter-of-fact as he took a seat beside her. “You don’t have to talk to me, but you do have to take a minute. Just… turn this off for a sec,” she said, tapping his temple. 

He had resisted at first, but as he relaxed into the cushions and closed his eyes, the tension eased almost instantly. He knew Maddie was serious about him not needing to talk, knew that she wouldn’t push him to tell her anything he didn’t want to. But sitting beside her, he felt the same sense of security he did beside Eddie last night. 

And as he spoke, the same thing happened as it did with Eddie. His shoulders suddenly felt lighter, his mind clearer, the intensity of the ache in his chest waning with each word. Maddie had hugged him and told him it wasn’t his fault. Her eyes had narrowed when he had said, “ _It could’ve been worse_.” She shook her head and vowed to slap him if she heard him say it again.

Whether it was the solace that came with his big sister beside him or her reminder that gatekeeping his own trauma helps no one, Buck’s not sure. What he _is_ sure of is that he feels a hell of a lot better than he did when she first walked in. 

So much so, that once she leaves and he returns to his desk, his stomach doesn’t turn over at the sight of the papers in the wastebasket. He opens his computer with the intention of answering some emails, but soon finds himself typing _history of home invasions_ into Google. 

He’s six articles deep when the door opens again and Eddie walks in. “Hey,” he says, crossing the room. 

“Hey,” Buck says, closing the lid to his laptop and looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Did you know that some drunk guy got into Queen Elizabeth's bedroom in the 80s? And while they waited for security to come arrest him, her footman offered the guy a scotch?”

“Uh, no?” Eddie says, his voice ticking up as if he’s not entirely sure of his own answer. “I don’t think I did. Is this your way of telling me I should've offered that guy a drink the other night?” 

"You said it, not me." 

"Funny," Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. "How are you?"

"Good," Buck says. And he means it. "Better now."

The corners of Buck’s mouth tug into a smile as Eddie sits on the edge of his desk. He’s certain there are a few historians out there who would have heart palpitations at the thought of Eddie’s ass on top of the century’s old heirloom, but Buck loves it. As far as he’s concerned, the Resolute Desk should be so lucky to be graced by Eddie’s perfect ass. Besides, this can’t possibly be any more offensive than whatever shenanigans it was subject to during the Kennedy Administration.

“What?” Eddie asks, catching onto the way Buck’s eyes rake up and down his body. “You like what you see or something?” 

“Maybe,” Buck says, tapping Eddie’s knee with his pen playfully before turning back. “You have a good morning?” 

Eddie nods. _Good_ is an understatement, his last three hours having been spent overseeing the teams installing motion sensors, knife-proof window screens, and glass-break detectors on every window in the residence. The sense of comfort it’s brought him is greater than he ever could’ve imagined. He had Athena send out two of her best threat analysts to do a walk through and even had Chim suit up in a rappelling kit and try to breach each window. “Yeah. Really good, actually. Bobby and I are gonna walk you through everything before your 2:00 meeting.” 

Buck nods. He always feels a little bit calmer when Eddie’s around– secure, grounded. And now, between Eddie’s presence and the relaxed half-smile on his face, the way his shoulders seem looser today than they have in days, and the calmness all but radiating off him, Buck finds himself almost immediately at ease. 

And then Eddie catches a glimpse at the wastebasket by his feet, filled with the morning’s newspapers. “Is that me?” he asks, amused. He reaches down to fish out the paper. 

“No, Eddie, don’t,” Buck says, defeat lacing his words as Eddie waves him off and looks at the paper. Sure enough, his picture’s inset just above a catchline reading **SECRET SERVICE DROP THE BALL**. 

Eddie scoffs, dropping it back onto the trash can unceremoniously. “Not my best shot,” he says before looking back up at Buck. “You ready for the walkthrough? Bobby’s going to meet us up there.”

Buck looks at him expectantly. 

“What?” Eddie asks. 

"What do you mean _what_ _?_ " Buck looks between Eddie and the trash can beside the desk. “You’re not bothered by that?” 

“I mean, they could’ve at least used a picture where I was looking at the camera.” 

“Not the picture,” Buck sighs. “The words, Eddie. You don’t care that they’re tearing you guys apart?” 

Eddie shrugs. “No. Not really interested in hearing what the peanut gallery has to say.”

“But they’re blaming you,” Buck points out. The words bring with them a renewed sense of guilt, albeit lighter and far more tolerable than the crushing waves from before. “They’re saying you guys don’t keep me safe.” 

“So?” Eddie asks. “Do you blame us?”

Buck’s lips part, his eyebrows knitting together in a display of visible confusion. “What? Of course not.” 

“Then that’s all I care about. And I think I speak for every other agent, too. Do you feel safe?”

The pause before Buck’s answer comes is a touch too long. 

Eddie knows the answer before he says it. It’s in the way he tucked his ankles behind himself in bed, how he slowed down in the hallway this morning until Eddie was all but walking beside him instead of two paces behind, and in the fact he dropped when Eddie first walked in earlier. He can’t believe it took this long to realize. 

If nothing else, the fact about the Queen should have been a dead giveaway. While Eddie processes fear and anxiety and other big emotions by compartmentalizing and/or hitting things, Buck turns to research. Eddie first noticed this coping mechanism of his during a campaign stop in Oklahoma, when a tornado rolled through. It came out of nowhere, the siren waking Buck up from a dead sleep just shy of seven a.m.

Eddie and Bobby ran into his hotel room, all but dragging him out of bed and to the basement as the siren sounded. The winds had taken out the cell service in the area, and with Maddie already at the site for his rally later that day, the twenty six minutes it took to get a hold of her were the longest ones of Buck’s life. Eddie had known Buck was terrified– the fear in his eyes unmistakable. And when they got on the campaign bus that night and headed for Texas, Buck started sharing random tornado trivia with anyone who would listen. 

It was the same thing when Christopher had a routine orthopedic surgery last year. Buck sat beside Eddie and Shannon in the waiting room, bouncing his leg nervously and asking if they knew that there are an average of 234 million surgeries performed globally each year. (They did not.) 

Eddie knows that Buck turns to research when things get scary, that he finds solace in facts. _"If I know about it, it won't catch me off guard again,"_ he had said with a shrug when Eddie had pressed after the tornado. Eddie can’t believe that Buck’s mention of the Queen's intruder didn’t set the alarm bells off in his brain. 

“I…” Buck’s voice trails off as he catches the shift in Eddie’s demeanor. 

The look on his face is exactly why Buck hadn’t told him– his jaw’s set tight, his gaze heavy under the weight of some combination of guilt and regret that makes Buck’s stomach twist up. 

“I don’t know,” Buck admits. 

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, his voice lost beneath the weight of the devastation that’s all but consuming him. He doesn’t know what else to say, unsure if sufficient words exist to accurately articulate the depth of his regret, how profoundly sorry he is. 

“It’s not you,” Buck says. “It’s not. I’ve never felt safer than when you’re beside me.” 

“And I wasn’t,” Eddie says quietly, his breath trapped in his lungs as everything registers. It all clicks into place, realization setting in. He bites the corner of his mouth as he nods slowly. “When it happened. I– I wasn’t there. You were by yourself.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Buck insists. Eddie won't meet his eyes. “Eddie, look at me.” He does, his eyes clouded with some emotion Buck can’t register. “I never blamed you for a second.” 

“But you don’t feel safe,” Eddie says. 

Buck pauses for a beat, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t feel _unsafe_.” 

“But you don’t feel safe,” Eddie repeats.

The tension’s gone from his face, nothing but defeat and regret in its place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Princessfbi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi) helped me with the tweet because she's an angel among us. ❤️


	6. wherever you like, i'll go

“But you don’t feel safe.” 

The words are like vinegar on Eddie’s tongue. He rubs at the nape of his neck, wide eyes returning to the carpet as his mind works in overdrive to process the regret and devastation tearing through him. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d do a hundred things differently,” Eddie says after a beat. “I regret so much about what happened.”

“But you shouldn’t,” Buck says. 

“But I do,” Eddie insists. “And nothing you or I can say can change that. I know that much.” 

Athena had been the one to point that out to him, last night on the phone after Eddie and Bobby had calmed down enough to the point that they could once again process words. 

As Eddie explained what Buck had left out of his statement, Athena could feel her blood running a little hotter, outrage bubbling up inside her until she thought she might snap. But that wouldn’t help anyone, not when Eddie had already flown off the handle and Bobby wasn’t too far behind him.

_ “Eddie,” she had said. “Can you change it?’ _

_ “What?” he had asked, her question catching him off guard.  _

_ “Can you, with all of the resources at your disposal, change what happened to Buck?” she paused, waiting for his answer.  _

_ “No,” he said after a moment, practically spitting out the word. Then again, calmer this time. “No. I can’t.”  _

_ “Okay then,” she said. “Take your moment to be mad. And then pick yourself up and be there for him.” _

_ “I could kill him,” Eddie said, the  _ ‘him’ _ in question perfectly clear. _

_ “We all could,” Athena replied without hesitation. “Trust me when I say that.” There was a moment of silence, nothing but the sharp hiss of Eddie’s breath. And then Bobby spoke.  _

_ “Listen. Athena’s right. All this anger? You’re not alone in it.”  _

_ Eddie felt calmer with that– knowing he’s not the only one full of blood-boiling fury– his pulse slowed down, his death grip on the bathroom counter eased up. And as Bobby continued, his breath came easier and his chest grew lighter. “But it’s not what he needs right now. He doesn’t need us being angry and he definitely doesn't need you going down to county lockup and swinging your fists.” _

_ “He needs you to be there for him. To help him get past this,” Athena finished.  _

_ “How?” Eddie asked. It seemed impossible, the thought of anything besides surrendering to the devastation just a blow of the wind away from pulling him under.  _

_ Buck’s world had crumbled the other night. It had come crashing down, catching flame on its way to the ground. And it hadn’t stopped burning until there was nothing but ash left in the wake of everything he once knew.  _

_ When Eddie told Athena this, she hummed in acknowledgment. “You know, some of the strongest buildings in the world are made of cinder blocks,” she said.  _

_ “So?” Eddie wasn’t following.  _

_ “Do you know what cinder blocks are made of?”  _

_ “Cinders?” Eddie guessed.  _

_ “Mmhm. And do you know another word for cinders?” Bobby chimed in.  _

_ Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, unsure where any of this was going. And then it dawned on him just as Bobby said it. “Ash.”  _

_“Build him back up,” Athena urged. “He needs it. He needs_ you _._ ” 

And now, watching the uneasiness pooling in Buck’s eyes, the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, his shoulders turned down and his chin tucked in, Eddie’s positive she’s right. 

Gone is Eddie’s bold and dazzling Buck, the one before him now a broken-down shell of the person he once was. “Listen,” Eddie says gently. He takes Buck’s hand in his own, running his thumb across his knuckles and relishing in the way Buck’s fingers hook around his instinctively. “As much as I want to, I can’t undo what happened. And it– it kills me that I can’t. But what I can do is promise you that I will do everything I can to help you get back to feeling safe again.” 

“Eddie,” Buck says, the word coming out as more of a sigh than anything. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else, for fear of his words getting stuck around the lump in his throat. Eddie’s still putting him first even when it’s clear from the look on his face– the devastation in those gorgeous brown eyes– that he’s about to fall apart himself. And the onslaught of emotion that realization brings with it is nearly too much for Buck to bear. 

“I know there’s no magic fix to this,” Eddie continues. “I don’t expect you to wake up tomorrow and act like nothing happened now that we have motion sensors and a few extra snipers on the roof. I know that’s only a fraction of the healing. I’m here for the rest.”

Buck can’t speak, his words trapped beneath the crushing weight of his own fondness for the man before him. Eddie has this way about him that makes Buck feel seen in a way he never has before. He joked once with Maddie that loving Eddie was like going through the body scanner at the airport: all his vulnerabilities on display, equal parts exhilarating and calming.

He thinks it holds true. 

“So, tell me what you need and I’ll get it done,” Eddie says. The truth of it is, Buck could ask for the moon and Eddie would throw a lasso around it and pull it down. When it comes to Buck’s sense of security, there are no small asks as far as Eddie’s concerned. Whether he asks for new agents, extra security measures, a ban on visitors, or a shaman to come sage the residence, Eddie doesn’t care. There’s nothing he won’t do. 

He’s committed to scraping up the ash, packing it tight and laying it down until Buck is whole again, until the only evidence of the collapse is the last of the soot buried beneath Eddie’s fingernails. 

Buck’s reply comes without a second’s hesitation. 

“You.” 

When met with the slight tilt of Eddie’s head, the slight furrow of his brows that indicates he’s not following, Buck continues. “All I need is you.”

“I can do that.”

“You already have,” Buck says. “You’ve shown up for me in ways I don’t think you even realize.”

“I–” Eddie’s at a loss for words. It’s now that he realizes that as much as Buck’s been feeling unsafe these last few days, he has been, too. Eddie’s always been drawn to certainty, predictability. Knowing that Buck’s safety’s in his hands has always been more of a comfort to Eddie than a burden. Eddie thrives on the sureness of it, the certainty that comes with knowing every move, every possible threat, every step before it's made. 

And that all vanished this week, stolen out from under him the second the alarm rang out. What little sleep he’s gotten since has been plagued with visions of the lights flashing, echoes of  _ immediate response required.  _ His own sense of safety and security has come with the knowledge that Buck is safe. And with that gone, he’s like a ship that’s come unmoored, drifting further and further away with each murmur of the sea.

“Eddie.” And for the first time since everything went to shit, Eddie catches a glimpse of the old Buck in the way his eyes shine. “You are the  _ only _ reason I didn’t go off the deep end this week. Whether you realize it or not, you’re helping. Being here even when I felt like my world was falling apart? Staying when you’re hurting too and I’m trying to claw my way out of this… this pit that I’ve fallen into? I just… there aren’t a lot of people in my life who would do that.”

“Be here?”

“Love me anyway.”

_______

Buck would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about Christopher’s return to the residence. Although the guilt had finally worked its way out of his system, there’s still some lingering doubt. He can’t help but wonder if he’d feel safe at the White House after what had happened. Or worse– if he didn’t think he could tell them if that was the case. 

Buck’s body is nothing but a vehicle for tension as the FaceTime ring cuts through the room, his heart pounding harder with each trill of the line. Eddie brings a hand to Buck’s thigh, squeezing his knee reassuringly, though it doesn’t do too much to alleviate the stress that’s got him wound tight, his eyes fixed on the phone screen as Christopher’s face comes into view. 

But it melts away when Chris looks at Eddie like he’s sprouted a second head when he asks if he wants to stay with Shannon for a few more days instead of coming back tonight. “No, I want to come.”

“And you can,” Eddie says. “We want you here, bud. But it’s your choice.”

“And if you’re worried about feeling safe, let’s talk about it,” Buck adds.

“I feel safe,” Chris says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

Buck smiles. The last of his tension melts away, along with the final shreds of guilt and self-loathing he’s been holding on to. If Christopher doesn’t blame him, if he still feels safe at home with them after what happened, then not much else matters. There’s nowhere to go but forward. If not for his own sake, then for Eddie’s and Christopher’s. 

It’s been exhausting, working through the aftermath of what happened. But Buck has Eddie to lean on, and that’s more than enough. And now, there are two smaller hands helping out, lifting him up, putting him back together. And that alone makes it all worth it. 

“Promise?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Christopher nods. “I always feel safe when Daddy’s around.”

Eddie’s reduced to nothing but shining eyes and a soft smile as Buck looks up at him through his lashes, some combination of love and reverence in his eyes, and says, “Me, too.” 

_______

“It looks totally normal,” Buck observes, running his fingers along the window screen. “And the breeze still gets in. You’re sure it’s cut-proof?”

Bobby nods. “Positive. We tested each one ourselves.” 

Eddie pulls his knife from his back pocket, flicking the blade open before passing it to Buck. “Go ahead.” 

Buck drags the blade across the screen gently at first, then again with more force. He passes the knife back to Eddie with a grin after stabbing at it a few times for good measure. “I’m impressed.” 

“Well, you have Eddie to thank for them,” Bobby says. “If it weren’t for him, there’d be bars on all the windows instead.”

Buck turns to look at Eddie, eyebrow raised. 

“What?” Eddie mumbles, flush creeping up his neck under Buck’s awe-struck stare. “I wasn’t going to let them turn this place into any more of a prison.” 

Buck can’t help himself. He leans over and presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheek, a hushed  _ thank you _ murmured into the stubble beneath his lips. 

The new head of building security came with a glowing recommendation from Athena, who had worked with him years ago when he was at Quantico. Although he’s only been on the job for all of 27 hours, Eddie’s been nothing but impressed. He had impressive experience, impeccable instincts, and when he walked through the residence with Eddie and Bobby, he pointed out weak spots that two of them may never have realized on their own. 

When Eddie had mentioned that Buck liked to open a window at night, he had suggested burglar bars on the windows so they could still be opened without fear of anyone or anything getting through them. When met with a less than pleasant look from Eddie, he pointed out that they could make decorative ones. 

“No, it’s not that,” Eddie had said. “I just don’t want him feeling like he’s in a prison. Or being reminded of the invasion every time he looks out the window. Also, we have a ten-year-old here half the time. Would you want your kid growing up behind barred windows?”

And thus, steel mesh window screens. And fingerprint locks on the windows and doors, motion detectors, and glass break sensors. Extra snipers on the roof, additional agents posted outside the residence doors, and infrared cameras installed along the perimeter of the property. 

By the end of the walkthrough, Buck’s looking at Eddie like he’s gone and lassoed the moon, like he’s moved mountains and walked through fire and slain a giant for him.

When he says as much, Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. “Hardly,” he says. “Though standing in between you and anyone who thinks they can hurt you is exactly where I want to be standing,” 

When Buck kisses him, it feels like coming home and tastes like a promise. “We’re going to get past this,” Eddie says into the space between their lips. “Together.”

Buck kisses him again, his lips curling into a smile as he does. “Together.” 

_______

“Hey Bucky?” Chris asks, sitting up against his pillows as Buck closes the book.

“Hmm?” Buck hums.

“Could you read another?” 

Buck smiles, tousling Christopher’s hair. “Only if you promise not to tell your dad I let you milk me for an extra chapter. He'll never let me live it down.”

“Deal.”

“Your dad heard that,” Eddie says, appearing in the doorway. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest as he raises an eyebrow. 

“He drives a hard bargain,” Buck protests. 

“Mmhm,” Eddie nods. “Your fiercest adversary, huh, Mr. President?”

“You try saying no to this face,” Buck says, met with a giggle as he squishes Christopher’s cheeks. 

“Scoot over, you two,” Eddie says, crossing the room. “My turn.” 

Buck’s grin rivals Christopher’s as the two of them make room on the bed for Eddie. He sits beside Buck, their sides melding together as he takes the book and stretches his legs out. 

“You have to do the voices,” Buck warns. “Or else you lose reading privileges.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he does the voices. Not nearly as well as Buck does, but Chris doesn't seem to mind. Neither does Buck, if the twinkle in his eyes is any indication. 

It’s only once he’s done reading, having closed the book and set it down on his chest, that he realizes Buck’s legs are intertwined with his own. His chest squeezes, his heart hanging a little lower in his chest as it registers. Their ankles rest against one another, skin against skin. Though seemingly insignificant– the motion so familiar he hadn’t even registered Buck moving against him– the magnitude of it isn’t lost on Eddie. 

Yeah, they’re going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! thank you so much for reading, this has been an absolute delight
> 
> once again, none of this would be possible without [Princessfbi,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi) who not only provided the idea and support needed to make this a reality, but also made [this.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/princessfbi/643979064282136576) i mean come ON. 💕 (and if you like my white house au, you'll love her [prince buck au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729407/chapters/56983879))


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